Le Monde de Fromage de Kate

Leif, recently, has taken to using expressions that surprise me a little. They really shouldn’t. He’s five, and he and all his absorbent, sponge-like wee peers throw terminology back and forth at a truly alarming velocity. For a while now, if something confuses him, surprises him, or amuses him in either of those aforementioned capacities, he’ll exclaim, “What the….?” He NEVER says anything in place of the ellipsis, though the vehemence with which he utters the phrase leads ME (yes, filthy minds) to think that what he’s omitting is completely scandalous.

An image of another member of the family captured this phrase perfectly in pictorial form:

“WHAT THE…?” as Interpreted by Paisley.

I used to be 5′ 9″ tall. USED to be. Okay, if we’re going to be nit-picky, I was just a SKOSH under 5′ 9″, but everyone knows that the laws of mathematics allow one to “round up,” therefore I was 5′ 9″. It would be RUDE to take up people’s valuable time by saying something like:

I’m 5′ 8.75″ – but in these shoes, which have a 1.5″ platform I suppose that makes me 5′ 10.25″ – unless the shoes have compressed at the sole a little – Do you think they have? I may walk funny in them… which is underpronating and which is UNDERpronating – I think I do one of those, but I get them mixed up – Oh – you know what else I get mixed up is “myopic” versus – Oh HELL – I can’t even think of the other one at the moment… HEY – where are you going?

It’s more succinct just to cut to the chase and say, “I am 5′ 9″ tall.” EXCEPT, at my last doctor’s appointment, they measured me – TWICE (at my insistence – at different times and on two different contraptions) and I am FIVE FEET EIGHT INCHES TALL! I am a singer; I know how to stand up straight, so that’s not the problem. And they always squish your hair so it doesn’t add artificial follicular height. This is CONCERNING. I do have arthritis, especially in my neck, part of my back – and so on. And people’s spines do compress with age, therefore they lose height. But I think I am too young to actually be SQUISHED SHORTER!!! Is my arthritis worse than I thought? Is my lack of ankles catching up with me?? Am I doomed to spend the rest of my life fretting over my rheumatism, my gout and/or my bowels as though I were ninety-seven??? No, please.

But here’s the candid and most sincere confession: I’m MUCH more bothered by my missing height as an issue of vanity rather than health. At some point I lost part of my skosh and I was probably EXACTLY 5′ 8.5″ for a while. Losing a fraction of a skosh didn’t cause me too much distress. It’s that half an inch that’s driving me bonkers. WHO TOOK MY HALF AN INCH??? That wee, itty-bitty half an inch let me still round up and be 5′ 9″. Yes, that’s a little bit Amazon (and a little bit rock-and-roll?), but it makes you thinner. There’s the naked truth. On any chart, the taller I was, the better my surfeit of weight was distributed. And if you calculate your BMI, it helps there, too – losing that height LITERALLY makes me fatter if you compute the numbers as a measly 5′ 8″ rather than 5′ 9″. I used to rationalize that it was a real blessing that I was tall; if I weighed the same and was 4′ tall I would be SPHERICAL. So I want my damn half an inch back! I never was and never will be “long and lean” or “long, lean and lithesome,” but I was an AMAZON – a woman of SIGNIFICANT STATURE. I was “statuesque,” perhaps. Sometimes it was a powerful feeling. But along with losing that half an inch, I have lost that feeling of authority – of PRESENCE. I’m very angry about that. At this fantastically BIZARE point in my life, it would behoove me to only experience and concentrate on things that buoyed up my self-concept. And now I’ve ACTUALLY been taken down a notch.

DAMN IT – GIVE ME BACK MY HALF AN INCH!!! PUT ME ON THE RACK – STRETCH ME WITH BIG OL’ STRONG FOLKS PULLING FROM BOTH DIRECTIONS ON ALL MY LIMBS – I’LL DO JUST ABOUT ANYTHING!

Yup – vain. Never really thought of myself as narcissistic in this respect, but my having been mysteriously squished has revealed a shallow facet of my character. Or should I say a facet of my character where I fall SHORT?

I’ve just had an epiphany: I AM shorty-greasy-spot-spot. And I had rather made peace with being crazy. Now I’m SHORT and insane – like a troll or something. SHORT hair, SHORT stature; NO ONE who hasn’t seen me recently will recognize me. Perhaps I shall now learn to revel in anonymity. Don’t be surprised if I decide to be a spy after all.

If you, like I am, are deeply saddened to have missed the 2006 Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling Competition, then I have a timely opportunity for you. From today until July 2, 2006, you can receive a 20% discount on specialty items and ALL CHEESE at the Ideal Cheese Shop! They are, apparently, having an anniversary sale.

It is a little unclear exactly WHAT Anniversary the Ideal Cheese Shop is celebrating. They do say:

Since 1954, we have introduced dozens of exotic cheeses to the American marketplace.
Ideal Cheese Shop has established itself with a reputation of service and knowledge which truly makes it The Ideal Cheese Shop.

How nice, indeed. But most people don’t make all that big a deal of their 52nd Anniversary (I believe the traditional gift for that Anniversary is figs and the Modern alternative is wasabi peas…). The tour of the Ideal Cheese Shop doesn’t elucidate this question any further:

Okay, evidently they changed locations at some point, but they don’t say when. The only thing that occurs to me after seeing this information is the following: IS ED EDELMAN DEAD??? Say that five times really fast with a mouth-full of marbles (no disrespect intended if he HAS passed on).

Ah well, who knows. Discounted cheese is DISCOUNTED CHEESE!!!

What does this have to do with Gloucestershire and Cheese Rolling? I respond to your query with THIS:

Butlers’ Goosnargh Gold®

This is an “outstanding Double Gloucester with peachy orange tones – the color of a late autumn sunset.” Poetic AND delicious, no doubt. They offer several other Double Gloucestershires as well, but this one just seems like it would ROLL awfully well. The largest increment that they offer is five pounds. I do not know if this constitutes an actual wheel or not, but I’m sure their customer support could be of assistance. In the genuine competition they tumble down that essentially vertical hill after a 7-8 pound wheel of Double Gloucestershire. But I’m sure that, for the novice, five pounds would suffice. As I have a innate capacity to inadvertently fling myself down on pretty much ANY surface, I think I could hurl myself off a precipice after a wheel of cheese VERY ably. This might just be MY sport.

Speaking of cheese (weren’t we?), I have been made aware (THANKS, Grettir!) of what I can only say is the BEST SPORT IN THE WORLD. It is the Cheese Rolling Competition in Gloucestershire, held this year on May 29th. What is “Cheese Rolling?”

It’s Gloucestershire’s craziest event and there are plenty of daring souls who are willing to risk life and limb to chase after a big Double Gloucester cheese at Cooper’s Hill …

No kidding, competitors from around the world (or at least the UK and evidently some “Kiwis” who were identified in the photo gallery) will chase down this practically VERTICAL hill after a wheel of cheese.

Of all Britain’s weird and wonderful customs and traditions, the annual cheese rolling races at Cooper’s Hill in Gloucestershire must be among the strangest – and certainly the most spectacular.
It takes place every year on Cooper’s Hill near Brockworth in the last weekend of May, and it sees scores of men and women hurtle 200 yards down a near vertical slope in pursuit of a seven-pound Double Gloucester cheese.
Thousands more gather to watch the remarkable spectacle which has been happening almost every year for at least 200 years, and it is believed, possibly many centuries more.

Here, by the way, is bucolic, rustic, pastoral (insert peaceful, countrified adjective here) Gloucestershire (to be pronounced as it only has ONE or TWO syllables rather than four or so):

And in this calm setting, age-old CHEESE-INDUCED INSANITY takes place every year in May. According to retired teacher, Jean Jefferies, who lives on the slopes of Cooper�??s Hill and is writing a book on the history of the cheese rolling races:

It seems that originally the event took place at midsummer. At some point it was moved to Whit Monday and in 1967 it was moved again, with the bank holiday to the last Monday in May.

This year, though the day started out with pleasant weather, it RAINED (in England?????):

As the OFFICIAL Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling Website said, “Just as the first cheese was rolled, down came the rain!” Indeed – and washed the spider out…

Notice the last image (no – not the sumo wrestler people with troll hair – that’s the penultimate image – I mean the one on the far right). Those are paramedics. And they are always close at hand, because there are plenty of injuries (even if it DOESN’T rain):

The two pictures on the left are from this year’s race (the second an image of one of the WINNERS), but the view on the right is of a competitor from 2004 who RENDERED HIMSELF UNCONCIOUS and had to be taken away by ambulance. This is better than rugby; there’s mud, no protective gear is utilized, there are many disfiguring accidents, AND there is CHEESE!

You’ll want to take a look at some of this year’s winners:

Oh, how they hold that cheese aloft with PRIDE. Here’s another winner (from 2004), who I especially like:

She wins, she’s proud, and then, evidently, she’s “knackered.”

I shall now provide you with a few Cheese Rolling Facts:

• Cheese rolling races are believed to have been held at Cooper’s Hill, near Gloucester, for hundreds of years.
• It was already an old tradition in the early 19th century.
• Its roots may lie in ancient fertility rites or hopes of a successful harvest.
• Competitors chase a Double Gloucester cheese weighing 7-8lb.
• During rationing in the Second World War the cheese was replaced by a wooden replica – still with a piece of cheese inside.
• Cooper’s Hill has a gradient of 1 in 2 for most of its height and a precipitous 1 in 1 in places.
• There are four downhill races, one for ladies, and uphill races for children and the really fit.
• The downhill race start point is marked by a maypole topped by a cockerel.
• The 2001 event was cancelled as a result of the foot and mouth crisis.
• The 2003 event was cancelled because of an Earthquake!

To get a REAL feel for this wacky dairy sport, watch Chaotic Race 5 and the Cheese Rolling Montage. Also, check the other pictures HERE. Lastly, check out the OFFICIAL Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling site for this page about past activities connected to the “Cooper’s Hill Wake” (back to the 1800’s). My favourites are “‘grinning (through a horse’s collar) for a cake” and – I kid you not – “shin-kicking!” Now THAT must have been a good time.

Let me just leave you a picture of my most favourite Cheese Rolling fan. He is, evidently, a “regular” at the event:

Last night, as I was reaching for something from the counter (I almost said “cupboard,” and a little voice in my head said – “You mean counter, don’t you,” – curses on YOU – and you know who YOU are…) AND talking at the same time, and I somehow lost my balance (go back and look at my theory of the invisible people who push me), fell backwards, and landed right on my substantial tookus (or “tokhes” if we want to be especially Yiddish about it). It HURT. That’s impressive, because, as I’ve explained before, my arse is well-padded, to say the least, so I have to hit HARD to impact my pelvic bones. I sat there for a moment, lamenting my ill-fated endeavor to be more savant-like (in other words, trying to walk AND talk AT THE SAME TIME) and saying, “Ouch, ouch, ouch, etc.” Shirleen and Sarah were in the next room. This is how Shirleen responded to my moaning over my aches and (no doubt) potential bruises:

You know, today at the yard sale there was a “Kate.”

Sarah retorted:

So-and-so (I can’t remember this “Kate’s” name) doesn’t fall down THAT much.

I have SURPASSED the eliciting of sympathy for my frequent spills and mishaps. In their defense, I suppose they knew I wasn’t hurt seriously (or FATALLY), because I didn’t STOP TALKING…

Zeke, a wee, shy little toy poodle belonging to William, Sarah and Shirleen escaped AGAIN from their yard last night. He is, primarily, William’s dog, and since William is out of town, Zeke took the opportunity when he was let out into the back yard to sneak through the little gap between the fence and the gate to go and look for his boy. If you happen to see this tiny dog:

ZEKE, Neutered Male White Toy Poodle

TINY – At most, 3-4 pounds – HAS COLLAR (AQUA/GREEN) & MICROCHIP

This time is he IS wearing a aqua/green-colored collar and has a microchip as well. He will be confused, bedraggled and probably hypoglycemic. Please call the number on the poster (it’s a Utah Valley number) if you find poor little Zeke or leave a comment here. THANK YOU!

Just a few recent “life lessons” I thought I’d share:

• Those tasty bran muffins with apple made from the special recipe, though they are “free” or “one point” or something like that according to your sister’s diet experts, still contain oodles of BRAN. Consequently, do not consume them with COMPLETE abandon; you may want to pay attention to how many you’ve had (even if they were all you ate that day – wait apple slices, too – good – MORE FIBER). Otherwise, you will have a VERY “Fiberlicious Wednesday.” And this does not sound as good as “Fiberlicious Friday.” WAIT- gobble up all the bran muffins you want on FRIDAY because it sounds better – almost holiday-like. Oh, the FIBER!!!
• “Park City” really should be called “Golf Course & Kajillion Dollar Condo City.” More on that later.
• If you are touring potential venues for a short course (don’t ASK what insanity might convince you to do work for your Dad’s consulting company again; that’s a story for another time), you might think that the man directing you around the very, VERY nicest lodge (last in the day, coincidentally), would be offended (or at least frightened or taken aback) when you looked at the wide variety of trunks and large baskets placed about the beautifully-appointed suites (many of the pieces rare antiques) and commented at LEAST ten times, “And that’s where you put your dead bodies.” And about the most beautiful (and probably the rarest and most expensive trunk), “That’s the VERY BEST place for a dead body!” Also, concerning the largest wicker trunk, you MAY have made an obscure reference to throwing Falstaff in the river… Where was I? Oh, and THEN, with little oddly-placed doors you endeavored to describe how you and your friend used to assess places, if they looked likely, by saying, “That’s where I’d hide my Jews.” You know – if we went back in time (and to Europe?) and it was the Holocaust… We meant no disrespect; I suppose we were imagining how resourceful we might have been. Anyhoo, this will be the place you BOOK for the short course. The sales manager actually replied to my hiding place for “my Jews” (?) comment, “That’s the FIRST place the Germans would look.” I said we’d cover it with a big piece of furniture… And in an email, when you apologize for the possible offense of touring an EXPENSIVE, charming lodge and commenting the most exuberantly over all the hiding places for corpses, he will say you needn’t apologize because he thought you [yes, I] were [was] funny. It’s nice when not EVERYONE stares at you blankly because YOU ARE A FREAK.
• I’ve becoming increasingly fond of Eastmountainsouth (Hard Times Come Again No More – definitely the coolest interpretation of a Stephen Foster song around – especially fond of So Are You to Me – so short and lovely – and Mark’s Song – and yes, it’s because I’m MAUDLIN – I like it all, really) and Rosie Thomas (I’d have a hard times picking, but she’s got a great take on Let It Be Me – Farewell is haunting – try Let Myself Fall, All My Life or Since You’ve Been Around – her albums have a lot of variety) recently.
• A possible side effect of my newest medication is a “serious, sometimes FATAL rash.” Mind you, it’s very unlikely (you know – low, low occurrences of such a side-effect, but you must be informed so you can get immediate medical attention if you get any of the symptoms), but I am now obsessed by every tiny spot or speck on my body (and there are so MANY – I have freckles and moles and blemishes and bruises and whatnots….). And just writing this also makes me ITCH.
• The u-shaped airplane pillow I bought in Chicago (at MIDWAY were they don’t have the cool automated plastic that whirls around the toilet seat like at O’Hare – figures) and is full of small foam-like dots SMELLS FUNNY. It did not smell funny in the store, just later… It’s a pillow conspiracy. And I’m beginning to think it could be a poisonous smell.

Take a very close look at the coiffures in this picture, paying very special attention to the BACK of my head (yes it’s ME) and the back of Paisley’s head. Oh, YES, we both have a significant case of BED HEAD.

I display this image to point out a major life inequity. Paisley looks criminally DARLING no matter what – bed head, crying, food all over her face – you name it. I, on the other hand, have reached that age where very little I do is inherently “cute” – perhaps nothing – and I could do without having such bedraggled moments immortalized.

Consequently, I would like to give my personal and very sincere thanks to Bruce Wayne, The Bear, for strategically covering up a multitude of sins. Bruce Wayne is the latest of Leif’s Build-a-Bear creations. He created his first one day when I kidnapped him specifically for that purpose. He chose a bear then, too, but it was significantly shorter (he was younger, I suppose, like Leif was). It had a lullaby recording in one of the paws and it was dressed just like Leif (baseball cap, striped t-shirt, shorts – I think we even got the little sneakers). He named it “Bear.” It’s been a few years, now, and so he did opt for the taller (more grown-up?) bear. And naturally, Bruce Wayne has a batman costume… Shhhhh!

I hope everyone lived strong on LIVESTRONG Day! I, myself, completed the day by seeing Mission: Impossible III, in which everyone lives VERY strong with weapons or without them, with bombs in their heads or without them, using Easy Cheese to dissolve the side of a van (or not). AND sometimes they even compute the fulcrum. That’s why, when I was young, all science seemed interesting to me EXCEPT physics – it was because of the fulcrum. When they gave you the picture with the teeter-totter with the supporting triangle in different places and said, “Where is the fulcrum?” or “What is the right fulcrum if the wee tiny kid and the really LARGE kid want to teeter-totter together?” I was always thinking “WHAT IN THE HELL IS A FULCRUM?”

Where was I? Ah yes, Blog against Cancer. In case you’ve forgotten (because of the FULCRUM), that’s number four on the list of suggestions from the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

I said a lot of what I might say now (had I not written it already) in “I Have Learned What it Means to Wear Yellow.” But, as things change for the better and for the worse, I have things to add. So let me talk about why I STILL Wear Yellow and probably always will.

I Wear Yellow in continuing memory of Laurie Walker, Helen Pawlowski, Joan Koralewski, Simon Craig Vodosek, and, yes, Mister Rogers. I Wear Yellow in honour of their families and loved ones who miss them, and to pay homage to their amazing legacies.

I wish you’d met this incredible child, Laurie.
Your daughter is such a beautiful Mother.

I Wear Yellow now, too, in memory of Glen Orrin Richardson and Grettir‘s Aunt Marge (who by all accounts was the embodiment of “salt of the Earth”).

I Wear Yellow in abiding optimism for Dr. Lisa Cannon-Albright. I Wear Yellow because of her personal fight with cancer, and in admiration and respect for the work that she and her colleagues do every day so that perhaps some day the losses and battles caused by cancer will be diminished – vanquished!

I Wear Yellow, too, in support and hope for Glen H., Barbara K., Ann E. and in their ongoing battles with cancer. My thoughts are with you and with your families.

I Wear Yellow in celebration for my beautiful niece, Sarah, who has had a “complete response” to her Hodgkin’s Lymphoma treatment.

Prom, April 22, 2006

I Wear Yellow in profound gratitude to Primary Children’s Medical Center and all the wonderful doctors there, especially Dr. Zeinab Afify, LDS Hospital and the wonderful Radiology Oncologist whose name escapes me, Cottonwood Hospital, all the home health nurses and workers, and the remarkable physicians at Johns Hopkins who worked so hard to figure out was wrong in the first place.

I Wear Yellow in thankfulness for all the Monkey Cats who provide an INSANE but diverting respite for Sarah from the unending (though natural) concern of her family. You have all been just FANTASTIC (and, as we all know, it takes VERY special people to be Sarah’s friends, as she is VERY special). And Rob – what can I say – you really are one in a million. You take such good care of our girl and treat her with respect, tenderness and patience beyond your years. Sarah didn’t tell us, but your Mom spilled the beans to MY Mom that you even offered to shave your head in support of our G.I. Jane. And in characteristic Sarah fashion she said, “No, SOMEONE should have hair!” Nevertheless, the mere fact that you offered is a testament to your character. Thank you for helping let Sarah live a full and very teenage life despite her chemo and radiation and whatnot. Thank you for wearing a mask and using anti-bacterial gel when she was immunocompromised (without anyone even having to ask) and for helping remind HER to be careful when it was necessary. Bless you.

I Wear Yellow because Sarah has shown me what an incredible young women she’s grown into. She has faced adversity, uncertainty and pain with a truly unique approach. And through it all, she has shown with VERY few exceptions, only patience and optimism. I am so proud of you, Sarah!

I Wear Yellow for Shirleen and for my Mother who take care of everyone else first. They work so hard and take essentially NO credit for all that they do. I am in awe of both of them.

I Wear Yellow to remind myself to have faith that a day will come when “cancer-free” will mean “cancer-free.” Glen Richardson and my Father showed me we are not there yet. My heartfelt desire is that Sarah (and everyone who is living or has lived through cancer treatment) will someday know truly what it is to be “cancer free.” I Wear Yellow because I believe there are cures for cancer in the future. And if now or in the future a cure is not enough, I Wear Yellow because I trust that some day end-of-life care and palliative care will be what they should be. And I thank, sincerely, The Division of Medical Ethics for the knowledge they gave me about such important issues.

And lastly, or perhaps foremost, I Wear Yellow for my Dad. Please know that despite whatever ridiculously stubborn guff I throw your way, I love you so much! I know you are hurting, and you still work so hard. And yes, I think most of us wish you knew how NOT to work so hard, but I’m still very proud of you.

I think this is what you do the very best. You were born to be “Grandpa.”

First, please attend the second annual Simon’s Birthday Lemonade Stand. Here’s the information, provided by his lovely Mother, Mary:

Classmates, friends and family of Simon Vodosek (who died of cancer in 2004 at the age of 7) will celebrate his life with the second annual Simon’s Birthday Lemonade Stand for Pediatric Cancer Research on what would have been Simon’s 9th birthday. The lemonade stand was inspired by Alex Scott, another child diagnosed with neuroblastoma, who took matters into her own hands and decided to fight the disease one glass at a time.
10% of all purchases at Liberty Heights Fresh on May 17 go directly to the Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation, along with all proceeds from the freshly squeezed organic lemonade, donated by Liberty Heights Fresh. Store hours are 8:30 am to 8:00 pm.
Simon’s favorite clown, Marcus, Funny Man Who Does Tricks, and of course, birthday cake will add to the fun:
4:00 pm